


Life, Love, the Universe, and Other Such Things

by killingthemoon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos Backstory, Carlos POV, Carlos arrives in Night Vale, Cecil Might be Human or Inhuman, Clocks, Decisions, Fluff, Late Night Musings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Probably inhuman, Science, Sort Of, Sunsets, The Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, The Moonlite All-Nite Diner, angels don't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingthemoon/pseuds/killingthemoon
Summary: Before and After are two very different things.Love is quick and cunning.Angels are not real.Welcome to Night Vale.





	1. The Before

**Author's Note:**

> (Most of these characters do not belong to me, as doesn't Night Vale— that happy right resides with Misters Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the concepts of Before and After are introduced.

He couldn’t possibly have had known that day, as he had dragged himself out of bed, that that was the day, the one that most everyone had at some point in their lives. That day was like a monument, a division for the Before and the After. It was the day that changed everything, and yet it was impossible to know that circumstances were falling into place just to provide it until it had arrived and the Moment was playing out and the course of a life was being erased and rewritten.  


But how could he have known? The answer was quite simple: he hadn’t.  


So he had woken up and eaten, brushed his teeth and changed into suitable clothes. Played out a routine that had clearly become second nature.  


He did all this, unaware of the precious few hours left to his Before, and the gaping chasm of his After.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [All captions and summaries are edited because I am Indecisive]
> 
> This is my first fanfiction. Ever! I'm so happy for the support this has gotten, and I love every single person who has given my bad writing a shot :)


	2. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a phone call. Also, be careful around pens.

Carlos had been in his lab when it had happened.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone who knew him; Carlos, it seemed, was almost always in his lab. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about people, simply that he would get so wrapped up in whatever science he was working on that day that he’d lose himself within the formulas and reactions. His lab assistants usually found themselves reminding him to take breaks, get some rest and do you ever just relax?

So there he had been. He’d just slid a petri dish under the microscope, leaning in to observe, hand hovering above a notebook, ready to jot down anything and everything when suddenly—

His phone rang.

The sound was awfully loud in the relative silence and solitude of the lab, surprising him so that his hand jerked. The pen left a long, blue line over his meticulously taken notes. He stood up straight and fished the device out of his pocket, lifting his safety goggles out of the way as he did so.

'Unknown Number' read the screen.

He frowned, but he pressed the accept call icon.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hello,” a voice said on the other end, “This is Mister Carlos the Scientist speaking, am I correct?”

“Yes but— who are you? Do I— I mean, am I… supposed to know you?” the voice was oddly indistinguishable. It wasn’t male or female, young or old, but completely and utterly monotonous, almost robotic in it’s speech patterns. And it was also entirely unfamiliar.

“You don’t know me, and you never will, but I know you and that’s all that matters. Now, Mister the Scientist, down to business: as I take it, you’re not content with your current job?”

Completely baffled, Carlos said, “Yes, but I fail to see how—”

“It’s expected. Well, Mister the Scientist, I have another question for you: would you be interested in a new job?”

“I don’t think I could answer that question, I mean, I don’t even know what job that may be, if that’s what you’re doing. Offering me one. A job. Because if that were what you were doing, I’d definitely need to know more before I could say anything.”

“I am absolutely offering you a job. We need more scientists, and after some research, you came out top. Everything’s already been taken care of; labs, equipment, a team, whatever. Also, a lot better paying than what you’re stuck with right now. Now all we need is you.”

Carlos was usually a rather careful person. Having an affinity for most sciences tended to do that to a person, what with chemicals and sharp objects and the occasional fire. There was a reason behind constantly being told to wear safety goggles or gloves during those high school science experiments. But now, standing at the very end of his Before, he found himself doing something that most might not have deemed wise.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“The most scientifically interesting community in all of America, possibly all the world,” said the Voice.

Carlos was a scientist. And yes, while he was very careful, he also needed change. Science itself was based on change, on finding out about things and the way they work. It was, irrevocably, the study of anything and everything, be it for better or for worse.

Science was the child who lay awake at night, wondering what clouds were made of or how far away the stars were. Science was curiosity, and curiosity was a call, a plea that couldn’t possibly be ignored. Curiosity killed the cat, but it was satisfaction that brought it back, after all.

So Carlos, teetering unknowingly on the edge of his After, finally said it:

“I’ll do it. I’ll take the job.”

And just like that, within minutes, Before had come crashing down like a torrential rain and suddenly all was new and unscripted.

It was After, for better or for worse, and looking back on that split-second decision Carlos decided that he wouldn’t have changed it for all the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are rad, seriously, I can't thank any of you enough!
> 
> Again, leave a comment as any suggestions/feedback are greatly helpful. Have a great rest-of-your day, and thanks for reading :)


	3. The Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos arrives in Night Vale and makes a decision.

“The clocks,” Carlos said to no one in particular, “Don’t work.”

He was lying on his back on his bed, the room dark. It was probably far past midnight, but he wasn’t tired in the slightest, his mind buzzing with an onslaught of information as he tried to figure out how best to react to— well. To Night Vale.

It had been a week since Carlos had arrived in Night Vale. A week, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he could take another. ‘The most scientifically interesting community in all of America’ was clearly an understatement. He was beginning to think Night Vale was the most bizarre place in the entire universe. He couldn’t even quite recall how he’d gotten there, as if long stretches of road had been completely wiped from his memory.

Every time he’d looked the town up on the GPS, it had simply given a vague remark like, ‘Just keep driving in that direction’ (no matter which direction he was currently driving) or ‘It’s sixty miles from Nowhere’. So he’d given up on GPS, and had instead purchased a large quantity of maps of the USA (Night Vale was nowhere to be found on any of them) and then resorted to asking whoever he met at gas stations or On Route stops (they all told him they’d never heard of the place.) In the end, he had turned his GPS back on and had driven straight on until he reached wide, open desert, his radio turned on in hopes of catching a broadcast from the town. And eventually, he had. 

He remembered that part quite clearly. He’d parked his car off the side of the road, fiddling with the radio dials and thinking bitterly that the entire thing had been a joke. He was somewhere in a desert, though he hadn’t bothered to check which one. At all sides, there had been vast, open nothingness, pockmarked occasionally by a cactus or two, or a small cluster of sandy desert rock. The road cleaved the whole thing in half and stretched on and on and on, all the way to the horizon and surely, beyond that too. Night had fallen, and he was so far out from the nearest city that the entire sky had been positively aglow with stars. He had looked up at them, because they really were beautiful— like the sky was an inky tapestry, and the stars millions of diamonds scattered haphazardly on it— when his radio had come to life with static, causing him to jump slightly in his seat. And there, slowly, a voice saying something about the sun and the moon and then—

‘Welcome… to Night Vale.’

He could have sobbed with relief.

He had started up his engine again, and had driven until the broadcast was no longer occasionally marred by bursts of staticy nothing, and then there it had been. A town, bordered at one edge by several large mountains (where had those come from?), still alive, despite the ungodly hour, with light. 

And so had been his arrival in Night Vale.

Except now, a week in, he had come to the conclusion that compared to the town itself, the trip had been laughable.

The clocks didn’t work. This had been his very first observation in the town. It had been his first day. He had returned from the lab, where he’d gotten a debriefing on just about everything, from the other scientists on his team (some of whom were locals and others not) to the rack of emergency test tubes stored in a cabinet above the sink. But it was just then, as he was about to turn off his car engine, that he’d realized that he didn’t have a single clock in his apartment. His mother had been overly fond of them when he had been younger, and their house had had one in nearly every room. The steady tick-ticking was comforting, but he hadn’t realized to what extent until he found himself in a strange town without a single one.

So he’d driven over to the general a few blocks away, and he’d bought a clock. Except it hadn’t worked properly at all. It showed the time, yes: 9:15. But then, 9:14. And 9:13. And 9:12. And then suddenly: 9:45. Baffled, he’d pried off the back to discover not a single gear inside, but a thick, gelatinous blob of a vaguely greyish colour. And that was only the start of it.

The sun didn’t rise at the right times. It always seemed to be a minute or so off compared to when it should have come up, and that was, he was told, on the days it actually decided to do so. 

There were sinkholes that opened up randomly in seemingly equally random locations. There were buildings that simply blinked in and out of existence as they chose. All that without actually taking into consideration the people that lived there. Carlos thought, it was only reasonable if they’d all gone utterly insane, if they hadn’t been killed already by those strange occurrences, but they seemed to take it completely in their stride. Angels? They didn’t exist, despite the proof being right in front of them. The dog park was off limits, the library was— God, he didn’t even know what the library was. And the town seemed to be governed by no exact form of government, but by various espionage groups, including one that seemed more official than the others, the— Sheriff's Secret Police? And what of the City Council? They couldn’t possibly be otherworldly beings like the citizens all attested and finally, there was the mystery of the voice on the radio.

He couldn’t even begin to explain the man who called himself Cecil, the one who came on every night to deliver news to the town. News of the town, which was just as odd. He had never seen the man, though he seemed to be rather fond of Carlos, or his hair anyway. It was almost as if he had some sort of power over the people, with his smooth voice and well-placed words. He seemed to be as much of a part of the town as the very buildings that made it up.

It was almost too much for Carlos to handle. 

On more than one occasion over those seven days, he had thought of just leaving as fast as he could, never to return again. But then, he now thought in the dark quiet of his room, why hadn’t he already? Because, he then thought, he was a scientist. It was laughably simple, but it was true. He couldn’t leave because he’d never forgive himself for it. He decided, there and then, that he wanted to learn everything about Night Vale, about the clocks and the odd patterns of the sun; about the sinkholes and the buildings that winked out of existence; about the angels and the espionage groups, the Secret Police and possibly the City Council; and definitely the voice on the radio, the mystery of Cecil. He would do it all, and he would not go mad while doing it. 

With the decision finally made, he closed his eyes to find that sleep had not been as far of as he had previously thought, and he fell away into dreams that weren’t nearly as troubled as they had been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnng this bad boy took a lot of editing because I was high on caffeine and poor decisions, please kill me
> 
> I love u all and am thankful for every bit of support this has gotten. Seriously, I love all of my readers, and there is a special place in my heart for all of the commenters out there


	4. The Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos finds himself doing science— in other words, in which Carlos thinks about Cecil and forgets all about science.

Night Vale, Carlos had decided, was not nearly as horrific as he had originally thought. Once, Night Vale had been terrifying and new and far bigger than it should have been. Even when chalked up to unfamiliarity, it was impossibly impossible. It was like being thrown into an entirely different universe, but then again, that wasn’t very far from the truth.

This decision had taken him a long, long time to come to (six and a half months, to be exact), but he had managed to come to terms with the towns oddities. The fact that most of the town’s citizens had stopped being wary of him also greatly helped. (They had a great mistrust towards all outsiders, though he supposed that anyone would after growing up in a place like Night Vale.) In fact, most of them seemed to like him, never hesitating to engage in friendly conversation while walking down the street or shopping at the Ralphs.

The clocks were still a bit disconcerting, but the extremely loud sunsets seemed to make up for it in the mornings. Otherwise, the town’s various mysteries had become more interesting than mild-meltingly uncanny. 

But one of these mysteries in particular bothered him more than most others, and that was the peculiar case of one Cecil Palmer. Cecil was even more unknowable than the clump of dirt Carlos was currently examining in his lab (it seemed to give off— laughing gas? But only within the confines of the lab.) 

Cecil was— he didn’t know. He had seen him in person several times, of course, because radio seemed to be one of the most prevalent forms of media in Night Vale and so any Important Scientific Findings could be made known. Like with the clocks when he had first come into town, when everything was still new and strange and daunting. And Cecil seemed to be, for the most part, a nice man. He was very enthusiastic about Carlos’ science, if anything. But occasionally, during late nights on the radio, his enthusiasm would give way to something… more. Late nights on the radio would give way to musings about the impermanence of life, about death and destruction and helplessness, and his words were alarming but also vaguely comforting somehow. A reminder that existence was a terror, but it was a shared terror. He had a way with words, a way of twisting and knotting them together so that they melted into each other, each one well thought-out and placed. Not at all like Carlos, who was awkward and stuttered, who could only communicate in a way that was halfway-eloquent through numbers and formulas and reactions and lab reports. Numbers weren’t like words; they weren’t difficult, they didn’t have to be well-chosen just in case, they didn’t have consequences as dire as words had. They were simple and they were true. They were as close to black-and-white as anything could get, so unlike words which were the entire colour spectrum and more.

Cecil had that sort of way with words. He was eloquent and that was all there was to it. But then he thought— (and Carlos felt exceptionally silly when contemplating the theory when he wasn’t in the man’s presence, even now in the lab where he was alone except for Alana, who was shuffling through some papers and muttering distractedly behind a desk in the far left corner) thought that maybe Cecil wasn’t entirely…

Well, human. 

And yes, it was ridiculous, but it was just a feeling that he got whenever he was near Cecil. His late-night-radio-thoughts made Carlos want to reach over and give him a reassuring pat on the back, maybe. But he said those things with such conviction, such knowing that it set him wondering if enthusiastic, bubbling Cecil had seen much more for much longer than most people. 

If he had been anywhere else in the world, he would have scoffed at those half-formed— not even theories, more like premonitions, instincts, gut-feelings— theories, because you’re a scientist god-damn-it, not a conspiracy theorist, but this was Night Vale, and in Night Vale it seemed, nothing was impossible almost as much as nothing was possible. There were Angels (even if you couldn’t talk about them) and the City Council was a multitude of otherworldly beings who happened to share a body. The thought that Cecil might be inhuman was not even, shockingly, fathomable, but it also didn’t seem far off from the truth (whatever that was.)

He wasn’t even sure how he felt about Cecil anymore. At first, he had been unnerving and something to be feared, just like everything else in the town. And then he had still been intimidating, because he just had this way of carrying himself, cautious but confident all at once, and he was also rather tall. He had a way of looking at people as well, a way that was intense and focused, like he was paying attention to you and only you as you spoke, with those violet, intelligent eyes of his that had most definitely seen much, much more than he let on. He turned these thoughts over in his head as he took copious notes on the clump of dirt on the petri dish in front of him. 

Cecil seemed to like him enough, he thought as he scribbled down a vague something about how the dirt seemed to spew the gas at random, and he certainly didn’t hide anything about it. Cecil, the voice on the radio, the very first part of the town that he’d been introduced to and—

‘Stop,’ Carlos told himself sternly, ‘these thoughts are very far from science.’ So, almost reluctantly, he shelved them away in his mind for further contemplation later. 

Cecil was unknowable and strange and beautiful, in a mysterious kind of way, like a child gazing up at the Aurora Borealis; they were strange and magnificent and unearthly to the child who didn’t know a thing about them. And Carlos would find himself thinking about Cecil and his violet, intelligent eyes and bubbling enthusiasm and existential-crises-late-at-night-on-the-radio far more than he’d have thought over the following weeks, though he found himself thinking that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two very, very much.
> 
> Also, sorry about those Hunky Paragraphs :')
> 
> I love u all, have a Nice Day


	5. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos has a revelation in the lab, and later has an experience in the Moonlite All-Nite Diner (which also makes excellent pancakes, by the way.)
> 
> Also, Carlos is totally a 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' kinda guy, and Douglas Adams' books fit in really nicely with Night Vale, so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for homophobia

He was ten-and-a-half months into Night Vale— and keeping it together rather well!— when the Realization hit him. In fact, it bowled into him, leaving him sprawled and breathless on the ground.

Because Cecil was talking on the radio, and he was talking about his trip to Switz and other countries that couldn’t possibly be real but apparently were, and Carlos was listening because he always, always did listen to Cecil, and then suddenly he was standing stock still as the sirens blared in his overly-active brain, and everything was just one long string of _oh no oh no oh no, you like him you like himyoulikehim _and _did you notlearnyourlessonthefirsttime _and _shit shitshit maybe I can just ignore it _and he couldn’t breathe properly because suddenly he was seventeen again and his parents had just found out and he was lying in his room wishing he didn’t exist because his mother had spent the entire night crying because ‘I just don’t understand, _where did we go wrong? _’ and his father wouldn’t even speak to him and the boy he had dated couldn’t even look him in the eyes after weeks of conversion therapy and—________

________Carlos closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly. That was all over now, done and over, and he was okay. He was okay. He was okay. The sharp, panicked edges of his thoughts had dulled somewhat and he could breathe again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Alana looked over at him oddly as she passed by with her usual stack of papers. “Are you okay?” she asked him, concerned._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yeah I’m— I’m fine.” he said haltingly. She looked at him quizzically. She didn’t believe him and she was going to ask but then she didn’t and she said, “Okay,” and then she was gone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He breathed out slowly again and turned back to his science, trying to tone down the staticky thoughts and memories flooding his brain all of a sudden._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The rest of the day was whiled away with distractions and science that Carlos just couldn’t get his heart into, and then that day was turning into a week and then a month._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Fear is consciousness plus life. Regret is an attempt to avoid what has already happened. Toast is bread, held under direct heat until crisp.’ Cecil was saying on the radio a month later, and Carlos was at home making toast which he found to be a wildly funny coincidence. Except now he was thinking about Cecil and his intelligent violet eyes and bubbly enthusiasm, and that was exactly what he was trying to avoid. And then he was thinking about his mother as she had cried all night and his father who refused to talk to him and the whispers and occasional shouts of ‘faggot!’ as he tried to navigate the halls of his stupid high school and David whose parents had sent him off to conversion therapy and then had switched towns entirely and the long nights wishing he was dead and now he couldn’t breath, standing in his kitchen in Night Vale. And the tiles were freezing under his socks-clad feet— had the kitchen always been this cold?— and the dying rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds were scathingly bright and the room was too small and too big and far too cold and Cecil was still talking on the radio, he was about to sign off, and then he did and then—_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The toast came out of the toaster and everything disappeared, like a vacuum that sucked all sound and feeling from the room so that now Carlos just felt exceptionally lonely. He could breathe. He took a deep breath. And then another. And then another, just for good measure. He walked over to the toaster feeling unsure of his steps and took them out. He lathered them in strawberry jam, the way he loved to make them, except now the very thought of eating something made him feel a bit sick and queasy. So instead, he set the plate on the counter, untouched. He looked at it for a long moment, the white plate with the two slices of wheat-less toast drowning in strawberry jam._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And then he got a sticky note— pale blue, square-shaped— and one of his makeshift pens and scrawled out a quick note telling whatever Sheriff's Secret Police Person or Neighbourhood Surveillance Squad Member that was present that they could have it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________(And sure enough, when he went back to the kitchen later, the toast was gone and there was a small ‘Thanks!’ written on the back of his pale blue sticky note.)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\- - -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Carlos was in the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Something about the crackly turquoise vinyl booths, the purple-and-white tiles and the soft jazz music streaming out of the radio seemed to draw him especially because it was in diners like these that he had spent at least a quarter of his adolescence. Also, they made pretty good waffles even if they couldn’t use wheat, so that was pretty nice._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He was sitting in his turquoise vinyl booth, right up next to the window. He had open a lab report but he also had a copy of Douglas Adams’ ‘The Restaurant at the End of the Universe’ and only one of them was getting the bulk of his attention. It wasn’t the lab report._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Diner was only partially filled with people. Some of the booths were occupied, some of the tables were occupied, and the bar with the high-stools was completely used up. There were families in some of the corner seats and couples or friends in some others and in the booth directly across from Carlos was—_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The universe, it seemed, was determined to make him miserable. Because sitting in the booth right across from him was one Cecil Palmer, radio broadcaster and unknowing source of much confusion for Carlos. He was sitting in one of the booths, on that crackling vinyl, across from one of the station interns who he recognized as being Dana. She was saying something, a silly smile playing on her lips. She finished and Cecil began to laugh, the sound carrying over to Carlos in his window booth. He flushed and turned to look down at his book with intense concentration. ‘ _'We'll meet the meat.’ _’ Zaphod was saying, but then there was a sudden loud _crash _from the front of the Diner. He looked up, distracted from his predicament for a moment. It was a waitress who seemed to have accidentally dropped a tray laden with pancakes. She heaved a sigh that was audible even from his position and bent down, using her numerous arms to pick up the mess._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Diner returned to it’s usual state of humming conversation. His eyes, unwillingly, drifted back over to Cecil and Dana’s booth. Dana was in the process of standing up, tightening her hijab as she did so. She left for the front of the Diner, past where the waitress had already cleaned up her mess, to the counter. Cecil was now alone. He pushed his glasses up from where they’d slid down his nose, and pulled over a newspaper. Carlos could see, very clearly, his array of glowing purple freckles. He wondered then how freckles could glow, and then about how little he cared at the moment. His hair was a very nice shade of blonde, and it was also rather wavy. He looked down at his book again, feeling oddly buoyant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He couldn’t concentrate on a word being said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again! Message me on tumblr, I won't bite!
> 
> Ily all, stay snazzy gamers


	6. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it has been one whole year. Carlos decides he's not dying today and then gets advice from his car's glove compartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You already know.
> 
> (Also, sorry for taking this long to update. Yell at me in the comments if you want.)

One year.

He had been in Night Vale for one whole year.

The thought amazed Carlos, who had doubted he would survive a month in the town upon his arrival. One whole year since that night looking at the stars and thinking that the phone call had been a joke. One year since Carlos had gotten that full debriefing of the lab, from the other scientists (some of whom he felt he could now safely call friends) to the emergency rack of test tubes in the cabinet above the sink (they were used far too often to be called emergency test tubes— by this point, it was just a habit). One year since he had first heard Cecil’s voice on the radio as he talked about the sun and the moon and the lights above that no one could explain. He felt a strange sense of nostalgia. At first he had felt as if Night Vale was the most bizarre, hostile place in the world, and then it had been a home and a lab all at once, but now he felt as if the thought of living anywhere else was impossible. Far better than his boring hometown where nothing scientifically interesting ever happened. Screw that— nothing interesting ever happened, period.

Grinning like a loon, he slid out of bed and got ready and when the mirror said ‘mornin’,’ he said good morning back.

\- - -

“One year!” Cynthia chirped, slamming her hands down on his desk, palms facing down and making him jump.

“Sorry?” Lost, he pulled up his goggles.

“Dude,” Cynthia said, shaking her head, her tight, black curls moving even after she had stopped, “You have to pay attention. I said it’s been a year!”

“A ye— Oh, yeah, it’s been a year— how’d you remember?” 

“Because I have exceptionally good memory. Additionally, it’s also been half a year and you’re still considering how to ask him out—”

Carlos wanted to sink through the floor, never to be seen again. He was suddenly very glad that apart from Cynthia and himself, there were only a few more scientists present and they were all at the other end of the room. “Shut up,” he muttered, “And besides, I never said I wanted to ask him out.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes. She tended to do that a lot. “Dude,” she began, and then stopped to swat at her arm. “Christ, Gilbert, you’ve been acting up all day,”

“Why?” Carlos asked, catching a glimpse of the tail of a tattooed rattlesnake slither into Cynthia’s sleeve. Apparently, tattoos moved in Night Vale. 

“I don’t know, he’s been acting funky all day—”

“Funky? That’s a new one,”

“Shut up, lover boy. Anyway, I don’t know. He’s not usually this active, you know? Normally he just curls up near my elbow and stays there, but he’s been going all up my arm all day and it tickles.”

“Maybe it’s the weather?” He supplied.

“Maybe,” she said, sounding unconvinced. She quickly regained her enthusiasm. “Anyway, dude, I was saying— Literally everyone can tell you like the guy? Don’t know who you think you’re kidding anymore.”

“I do not—”

“Oh yeah you do,”

“I—” He snapped his mouth shut as one of the scientist’s at the other end of the room turned to give them a dirty look. Cynthia snorted but moved on to her own table, where she plopped down and pulled out a (municipally approved) novel. 

He hated to think it, but Cynthia was right. Which was exactly why he hated it.

\- - -

The bowling alley roof was painted black. Completely black, and the walls were midnight blue. The lights were dim, and their shades were shaped like bowling balls of various colours.

Bowling balls.

Lampshades shaped like bowling balls.

‘You’re delirious,’ the rational part of him offered, hanging off in a corner. He wanted to laugh or cry or maybe just lay there until he turned to dust. His hands were sticky with blood. He didn’t like it. Teddy Williams was hovering above him, looking worried. There was music playing from the speakers, something that sounded vaguely like the Eurythmics. It was barely audible over the sound of the crowd. Cecil’s show was on. Maybe it was the Eurythmics. Everything hurt. 

‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, Carlos,’ the rational part of him was saying, ‘You’ve gone and gotten yourself killed. By a miniature civilization of warmongerers. It’s like Gulliver's Travels.’ Everything hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was dreaming. Worse case scenario (or best case, he really couldn’t tell the difference anymore) he would wake up in his bed in Night Vale or maybe his bed all the way back in Victorville and it would turn out it had all been a dream. And then he would feel a bit disappointed but carry on with his day. But no— Night Vale was his home now, in a way Victorville had never been despite the fact that he’d lived there most of his life and only one year in Night Vale.

No, he wasn’t going to die right now. There was still too much he needed to do— he didn’t even know why the sun didn’t set properly yet, god damn it. Sometimes thing felt strange or malevolent, but it actually turned out they were something else all together.

Like the sunsets, which really were quite beautiful.

Like Night Vale.

Like Cecil.

\- - -

‘Hi could I meet you—’ he deleted the message. There was no point continuing it.

‘Cecil I’ve been wanting to ask you—’ This time he was interrupted by an actual voice coming from the glove compartment of his car. It came alive with a burst of walkie-talkie type static.

“That is the most clichéd thing I’ve ever read. In my entire life. Seriously.” The voice said.

“Well why don’t you give me a few ideas?” Carlos asked, cross. He was sore and tired and running on adrenaline and he would probably regret this in the morning but for now he had said ‘screw it’ and he was going to send this message, if only to shut Cynthia up.

“Tell him you want to meet him,” the voice said, launching into action with a new spasm of static, “But not like you were saying before. That was just plain bad. Say it differently. Tell him to meet you at…” the voice paused for a moment. “The Arby’s parking lot.”

“Why the Arby’s?”

“Because,” the voice said patiently, “It’s the Arby’s. All important things happen at the Arby’s. You go there. You have important philosophical conversations or ask people out or read your last will, testament and grocery list. Rinse, lather, repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repe—”

“If this backfires,” Carlos said, cutting of the voice’s sudden monotonous trance and typing in the words regardless, “I’m going to blame you.”

“I would blame me too. But you don’t have a name for me, so. That plan wasted.”

“Do you have one?” He asked, typing in the message. Apparently, taking advice from glove compartments was something he did now.

“What, a name? Sure I do. Doesn’t mean I’ve gotta tell you though.” There was a pause. “Geoffrey.”

“Alright.” His thumb hovered above the text button. “Actually, maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Dude. Send it.”

Carlos hit send. And promptly began to panic.

“Woah, woah, woah! Chill out, man! It’s all good! Hold on, lemme just—”

The radio came to life.

“ _—likely I will learn nothing from this. Oh! Message on my phone— _”__

__“Shit.” Carlos said._ _

__“You better go,” Geoffrey said._ _

__He went._ _

__\- - -_ _

__" _One year later. One year since he arrived. He put his hand on my knee and said nothing. And I knew what he meant. I felt the same. I leaned my head on his shoulder. We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights— mostly void, partially stars? That sky reminds us we don’t understand even more. Good night, Night Vale. Good Night. _"__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode does things to me man.
> 
> Anyway, a huuuuge thank you to all y'all. To be honest? I thought this would get a grand total of three reads.
> 
> Drop a comment if you want, I am Nice and always Ready To Make Friends.
> 
> Have a marvelous rest-of-your-day!


	7. The After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was his After. 
> 
> Carlos found he wouldn't change it for all the world.

Night Vale was horrific and terrifying.

Night Vale was also home. 

Night Vale was more of a home to Carlos than Victorville had ever been. How could he put into words what Night Vale was to him , how it had gone from scientific endeavor, job, nightmare to home? How could he possibly explain? The answer was simple; he couldn't.

He often thought, now, many years after, about how he could've said no during that fateful phone call so long ago. That day in his lab, in Victorville, unaware of his looming After. He could've said no to the Voice, sorry I can't take your job but thank you very much for the offer anyway. He could have! But he hadn't said no, and he thought that he wouldn't change that for all the world.

Home was a place, and that place was Night Vale. But home was also a person, and that person was Cecil. 

How could he even begin to explain what Cecil was to him? He was like Night Vale. He was indescribable. He was... He was  _Cecil._ It was the only way to put it.

Now, Carlos would turn in bed, the early morning sunlight slanting through blinds that couldn't be cajoled into closing fully onto Cecil's face making him look like a painting, all gold and muted tones. His mouth would be slightly agape, and he would be fast asleep because the man slept like a rock, really, and everything would be soft and peaceful. He wouldn't change that, ever. But he would still think, wonder if this was all really a dream that he would soon wake up from. But it wasn't a dream. It was his new reality and for that, he was infinitely glad.

Because yes, the town was surreal and occasionally terrifying. Yes the rules were incredibly draconian and the slightest act could get you imprisoned or killed. There were glowing clouds that rained dead animals and five-headed dragons ran for mayor. The clocks didn't quite work and the sun didn't quite come up or go down at the right times. But it all belonged to Night Vale so he would defend it. And the next time a malicious corporation tried to take it over or a miniature civilization attacked it or mysterious strangers swarmed it's streets, he would try to help fend it off. Once, he had thought Cecil's devotion to the town had been strange, but now he understood it. He understood that even if he couldn't comprehend the sunrises or the applications of gravity in some areas.

And at the end of it all, at the end of days of science and terror he could always depend on Cecil being there, that one dependant in a world of inconsistencies, smiling in his imperfectly perfect way and Carlos would fall in love all over again.

This was his After. And he wouldn't change it for all the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you enjoyed this whopper, consider reading my other fics too!)
> 
> At the time of writing it was two in the morning when suddenly I was struck by the Golden Light of Inspiration, so I wrote this. 
> 
> Finally. We've reached The Stunning Conclusion. The Astounding Finale. The End. It was fun. I sound very Nonchalant but I'm actually yelling because I am notorious for leaving my writing half-baked in the oven.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! Leave a comment, I promise I'm not mean and it honestly makes my day when someone comments something even remotely positive on anything I've made. 
> 
> Love y'all, and have an absolutely spiffy rest-of-your-day
> 
> :)


End file.
